The Quiet After the Storm

The apartment was too quiet. That was always the dangerous sign.

Atsumu knew it the second he flopped onto the couch—body still buzzing from practice, mind still replaying that last set. Perfect toss, right into Bokuto’s spike path. The kind that made the crowd go silent before they exploded. He was still riding that high when he grabbed the remote and queued up the action movie he'd been dying to watch for weeks.

Sakusa walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, and stopped.

“That again?”

Atsumu didn’t look at him. “Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

“We watched it last week.”

“No we didn’t.”

“We did. You fell asleep twenty minutes in. I had to rewind it for you the next morning.”

Atsumu’s jaw tightened. He remembered. Sakusa’s long fingers finding the remote, the quiet sigh, the flat “never mind, I’ll just watch it alone”—like Atsumu was a kid who’d failed at something simple.

“I wanna watch it again,” Atsumu said, louder now. “S’not a crime.”

“It’s boring.”

“It ain’t boring. You just ain’t got taste.”

Sakusa’s expression didn’t change. That was the worst part. He looked at Atsumu the way he looked at a dirty dish left in the sink—mild irritation, quiet disappointment, that low-grade exhaustion that lived permanently in the set of his shoulders.

“Fine,” Sakusa said, like he was granting a mercy Atsumu didn’t deserve. “Watch your movie.”

But he didn’t sit down. He walked to the bedroom. The door clicked shut—soft, deliberate.

Atsumu stared at the screen. Explosions meant nothing. Dialogue blurred. His hands were shaking, and he hated that. Hated that he was the one shaking when Sakusa was the one who’d walked away.

He followed him.

The bedroom door wasn’t locked. Atsumu pushed it open. Sakusa sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, his back a wall Atsumu had never learned to climb.

“What’s your problem?” Atsumu asked.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then why’d you walk off like that?”

Sakusa didn’t answer. Kept scrolling, thumb moving in slow, methodical sweeps.

“Oi. Kiyoomi. I’m talkin’ to you.”

Sakusa’s thumb stopped. He looked up. His eyes were dark, tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

“What do you want me to say, Atsumu?”

“I dunno. Maybe what’s actually goin’ through that head of yours for once?”

A beat. Then Sakusa put his phone down and stood. He didn’t raise his voice. Never did. But his words came out sharp and clean, like a blade that had been waiting in its sheath.

“I’m tired of always having to accommodate your moods. Tired of you needing constant attention and getting defensive when I don’t give it the exact way you want. Tired of coming home to a mess because you couldn’t be bothered to put your shoes away. Tired of you acting like I’m the enemy when I ask you to be a functioning adult.”

Atsumu’s throat closed. He opened his mouth, ready with a barb—something about Sakusa being a control freak, something about him acting like he was better than everyone, something that would wound because that was what Atsumu did when cornered.

But Sakusa kept going.

“You treat our relationship like I’m supposed to read your mind, and when I can’t, you get angry. You want me to be soft with you all the time, but you never think about how I feel. You just take and take and—”

He stopped. Pressed his lips together. Then, so quiet Atsumu almost thought he’d imagined it: “Atsu, it is so hard sometimes to love you…”

The room went still.

Atsumu felt the words land in his chest like stones dropped into deep water. They sank. Settled. Made a home in the hollow space behind his ribs.

He wanted to say something. Wanted to scream. Wanted to tell Sakusa that he tried, that he was trying, that loving Sakusa was hard too—like pulling teeth from iron, like bleeding into a locked room and hoping someone would smell the blood and break the door down.

But what came out was nothing.

He turned. Walked out of the bedroom. Grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. Sakusa called his name, once, with something that might’ve been regret. Atsumu didn’t stop.

The door slammed behind him, echoing down the empty hallway like a gunshot.

---

The city at midnight was a different animal.

Streets slick with recent rain, asphalt gleaming under streetlights like the skin of something wet and alive. Atsumu walked fast, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. He didn’t know where he was going. Just knew he couldn’t be in that apartment, couldn’t look at Sakusa’s face, couldn’t replay those words without shattering.

It is so hard sometimes to love you.

He turned a corner. Then another. Streets got narrower, darker. Shops closed, metal shutters pulled down like eyelids. Only sound: his footsteps and the distant hum of a train underground.

“Stupid,” he muttered, breath fogging. “Stupid fuckin’… who says that? Who says that to someone they love?”

He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Crying. Didn’t notice when it started. Tears hot and humiliating, and he was glad no one was around to see.

“I try,” he whispered. “I try so hard, and it’s never enough for him. Never good enough. Never right.”

He thought about the way Sakusa looked at him sometimes—like he was a puzzle with too many jagged edges. Like the solution to Atsumu wasn’t worth the time to find it.

“Maybe he don’t love me at all,” Atsumu said, and the words felt like swallowing glass. “Maybe he’s just been puttin’ up with me.”

He stopped walking. Narrow alley between two buildings, smelled like garbage and stale beer. He leaned against the wall, pressed his palms to his eyes, and let himself cry properly. Great heaving sobs that shook his shoulders and left him breathless.

He didn’t hear the footsteps.

First sign he wasn’t alone: a voice, low and rough, from behind him.

“Hey there, pretty thing. You okay?”

Atsumu’s blood went cold. He straightened, turned, saw a man standing at the mouth of the alley. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Face half-hidden in shadow, but his smile was clear—yellowed teeth, too wide, too friendly.

“I’m fine,” Atsumu said, voice scratchy from crying. “Just goin’ home.”

“You’re crying,” the man said, taking a step forward. “That’s not fine. You need someone to talk to?”

“No. I said I’m fine.”

Atsumu moved to walk past him. The man stepped into his path. His hand came up, not quite touching Atsumu’s chest, but close. Too close.

“Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help. Move.”

The man didn’t move. His smile widened, and there was something hungry in it, something that made the hair on the back of Atsumu’s neck stand up.

“You’re a pretty thing,” the man said. “Real pretty. You play volleyball or something? Got them legs.”

Atsumu’s heart pounded, frantic drum against his ribs. “I said move.”

The man laughed. Low, wet sound. “Feisty. I like that.”

And then his hand was on Atsumu’s arm.

Atsumu jerked back, but the grip tightened. “Get off me.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. Just a little fun.”

Atsumu swung. His fist connected with the man’s jaw—wild, panicked hit. Didn’t do much more than make the man grunt. The grip on his arm didn’t loosen. Got tighter.

“Stupid bitch,” the man snarled, and shoved Atsumu hard against the wall.

Back of Atsumu’s head cracked against brick. Pain exploded behind his eyes, white and blinding. He tried to push the man off, but the man was bigger, heavier. Arms pinned.

“Don’t,” Atsumu gasped. “Don’t—please—”

The man’s hand covered his mouth. Taste of dirt and salt and sweat. The alley spun. The streetlight at the far end flickered, and Atsumu thought, with a clarity that felt almost peaceful, so this is how it ends.

He stopped fighting.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he gave up. But because his body decided it was over, and his mind followed, and he floated somewhere above it all, watching a stranger do terrible things to a body that used to be his.

---

When it was over, the man was gone.

Atsumu didn’t know how much time had passed. Minutes. Hours. The sky hadn’t changed. The streetlight still flickered. The alley smelled the same—garbage and beer and something else now, something metallic and intimate.

He was on the ground. Back against the wall. Legs splayed out in front of him like a broken doll. Clothes torn. Skin cold. Blood on his lip where he’d bitten through it. Pain everywhere—deep, throbbing ache that started between his legs and radiated outward until it filled every cell.

He should call someone. Police. His brother. Something.

But his phone was in his pocket, and his hand wouldn’t move to reach it.

So he sat there, in the cold and the dark, and let the tears fall silently down his cheeks.

Eventually, he stood.

Took three tries. Legs shaking. Knees buckling. Body screamed at him to lie back down, disappear into the wet asphalt and never get up again.

But he didn’t.

He walked.

Streets still empty. City had no idea what happened to him. World going on as if nothing changed. Maybe nothing had. Maybe he was still the same Atsumu Miya who’d argued with his boyfriend over a movie. Maybe the only difference was the blood drying on his thighs and the silence in his head where his thoughts used to be.

He made it back to the apartment building. Elevator broken, so he took the stairs. Five flights. Each step a small death.

When he reached the door, he saw the light was still on.

He hadn’t expected that.

He opened the door slowly, wincing at the creak of hinges. Apartment quiet. TV off. The movie he’d wanted to watch still in the player, waiting.

He took one step inside. Then another.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Sakusa’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. He sat on the couch, arms crossed, face hard. He looked at Atsumu, and Atsumu saw the worry beneath the anger, the fear buried under layers of ice.

But he couldn’t read it. Not right now. All he saw was the cold, the judgment, the words that had driven him out into the night.

“Out,” Atsumu said. His voice hoarse. Broken.

“You’ve been gone for three hours.”

“So?”

Sakusa stood. Walked toward Atsumu. Atsumu’s body tensed—every nerve screaming at him to run, hide, lock himself away before anyone could touch him again.

Sakusa stopped a few feet away. His eyes narrowed.

“Look at me.”

Atsumu didn’t move.

“Atsumu. Look at me.”

Slowly, painfully, Atsumu raised his eyes. He saw Sakusa’s face—the sharp jaw, dark curls, eyes that had always been unreadable. But now, for the first time, he saw something else there.

Worry. Genuine, raw worry.

“What happened?” Sakusa asked, voice softer now.

“Nothin’.”

“Your lip is bleeding. Your shirt is torn. You’re limping. Don’t tell me nothing.”

Atsumu’s chin trembled. He bit his lip, tasted blood again, and that brought him back to the alley, the wall, the pain he couldn’t escape.

“I fell,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

“I tripped. On the stairs. I hit my head, I—”

“Stop.”

Sakusa reached out, and Atsumu flinched.

Small movement, but Sakusa saw it. His hand froze in midair. His eyes went wide.

“Atsumu.”

“Don’t touch me.”

The words came out sharp, desperate. Sakusa pulled his hand back as if burned.

“Okay,” Sakusa said. “Okay. I won’t touch you. But please. Tell me what happened.”

Atsumu shook his head. Couldn’t. Words wouldn’t form—stuck somewhere deep in his chest, tangled with shame and pain and terror crawling under his skin like insects.

“I need a shower,” he said.

He walked past Sakusa, toward the bathroom. Locked the door behind him.

---

The bathroom light was too bright.

Atsumu stood in front of the mirror and stared at the stranger looking back. Hair a mess, tangled and dirty. Lip split and swollen. Bruise forming on his cheekbone, purple and ugly. Eyes red, hollow, empty.

He looked like a ghost.

He took off his jacket first. Then his shirt. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. Down to his boxers, he looked at himself properly.

Bruises on his ribs. Fingerprints. Marks where hands had held him down, held him still, held him while—

He turned away from the mirror. Couldn’t look anymore.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, head in his hands, and let himself fall apart.

Sobs came from somewhere deep, primal. They tore through his throat and left him gasping. He thought about Sakusa’s words. It is so hard sometimes to love you. Thought about the man in the alley. The hands. The pain. The moment he stopped fighting.

“He’s gonna hate me now,” Atsumu whispered to the empty room. “He’s gonna look at me and see… this.”

He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.

“Why’d I have to go out? Why couldn’t I just… stay? Why’d I have to make it worse?”

He thought about Sakusa’s voice through the door. The worry. The way he’d pulled his hand back when Atsumu flinched.

“He don’t even know yet. He don’t know what happened to me. When he finds out… he’s gonna think I’m broken.”

He laughed. Horrible sound, cracked and broken.

“Maybe I am broken. Maybe I was always broken. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to love me.”

He stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower. Turned the water on as hot as it would go. It burned. He wanted it to burn. Wanted to scrub every trace of that man off his skin, off his bones, out of his memory.

But all he could do was stand under the water and cry.

---

He didn’t know how long he was in there. Long enough for the hot water to run out. Long enough for the cold to set in. Long enough for the tears to stop because there were no more left.

He got out. Dried himself mechanically, avoiding his own reflection. Found a loose t-shirt and sweatpants in the closet—Sakusa’s. They smelled like him. Clean and sharp and familiar.

He stood in front of the door and listened.

Silence.

Maybe Sakusa had gone to bed. Maybe he’d given up waiting. Maybe he didn’t care at all.

Atsumu opened the door.

Sakusa was sitting on the floor outside, back against the wall. He looked up when the door opened, and his eyes were red.

“I’m sorry,” Sakusa said.

Atsumu froze.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

Atsumu’s lip trembled. “You did.”

“I didn’t,” Sakusa said, and his voice cracked. “I was angry. Frustrated. But I didn’t mean it. I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me, and I don’t know how to say it right, and I push you away because I’m scared of how much I need you, and I—”

He stopped. Took a breath.

“I was so worried about you. When you didn’t come back, I called you. Ten times. Twenty times. You didn’t pick up. I thought you’d left me. Thought you were gone for good.”

Atsumu stared at him. The proud, cold, unreadable Sakusa Kiyoomi, sitting on the floor in their shared apartment, tears running down his face.

“What happened to you?” Sakusa whispered. “Please. Tell me. I won’t judge you. I won’t be angry. I just… I need to know.”

Atsumu’s knees gave out.

He fell, and Sakusa caught him.

They ended up on the floor together, Atsumu in Sakusa’s lap, face buried in Sakusa’s chest. The words came out in fragments. The argument. The walk. The alley. The man. Everything.

Sakusa held him through all of it.

He didn’t say a word. Just held him, arms tight and secure, chin resting on Atsumu’s head. His hand stroked Atsumu’s back in slow, steady circles.

When Atsumu was done, when there was nothing left but silence and the sound of their breathing, Sakusa spoke.

“I’m here.”

Atsumu shook his head. “I’m dirty. I’m—”

“You’re not dirty. You’re not broken. You’re not any of the things you’re thinking right now.”

“But you said… you said it was hard to love me.”

“I was wrong.” Sakusa’s voice was fierce, raw. “I was wrong, and I will spend the rest of my life making up for it if I have to. Loving you is not hard. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. The hardest part is myself. My walls. My fear. Not you. Never you.”

Atsumu sobbed—ragged sound tearing out of his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Sakusa whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through this. Together.”

He pressed a kiss to Atsumu’s forehead.

“I love you, Atsumu. So much. And nothing—nothing that happened tonight changes that.”

Atsumu clung to him like a drowning man clings to a life raft. And for the first time since he’d left the apartment, he felt like he could breathe.

They stayed on the floor until the sun came up, Sakusa holding him, whispering promises into his hair, building a fortress out of his arms.

And Atsumu, slowly, began to believe that maybe—just maybe—he was worth loving after all.